Home
by gargle
Summary: Post-BTR. The boys will always be there for each other. James needs Kendall to remember this, or he's going to let all of his plants die. Rated M for a plentitude of coarse cursing.


**A good friend is talking me back into writing. Baby steps and all. I wrote this piece for her - very quickly - inspired by the Heffron Drive song "Could You be Home." Because what writer is not inspired by that song? Rated M because of the many, may repeats of the same coarse curse. If that is not your thing, you probably shouldn't read this. Not intended as slash but as unshakable, immutable friendship. Not mine, no money. So no money.**

The break up had been a bad one.

James knew that, but he hadn't expected Kendall to take it as hard as he did. God knew the kid was a passionate, hopeless romantic. When he gave his heart he gave it wholly, gave his soul, and he expected the recipient to cherish it in the same way he cherished theirs.

And somehow, god damn it, that never happened.

This one had gone south so very fast, he hadn't seen it coming. Even for all the media scrutiny they faced as young celebrity adults, no one saw that this glowing couple - the one that laughingly graced so many red carpets, the one whose ubiquitous smiles and kisses were wall to wall on Kendall's Instagram – no one saw them coming apart. And James ached in knowing what a gut punch it had been for his old band mate. He wanted nothing more than for Kendall to come to him as he always had. To count on James to make it better. But that hadn't happened. This time, Kendall had disappeared.

Carlos had noticed first.

Kendall had been on tour when it all went down: The LA paparazzi machine, the TMZ exclusive. And suddenly they were all calling each other, asking was it true? How could it be true? How did they not know it? How did they not see it? The four of them were as fiercely protective of each other as when they were kids, and they all knew the passionate chink in Kendall's armor. How did they not cover it? How did they fail him?

James and Logan nominated Carlos to make the representative call, on the grounds that he was less likely to repeat variations of "are you ok?" until Kendall hung up. Not surprisingly, Kendall did not pick up, and a new, computerized voice gave generics instructions to leave a message.

"Wow," Logan sounded simultaneously impressed and distressed. "Didn't even want her to hear his voice when she called to explain."

"She shouldn't get to." James growled.

"Look," Carlos interjected. "I'll try him again tomorrow. At least he knows we're trying to get in touch with him."

Two weeks later, they hoped he still knew that. He had sent them a group message from Germany, where he had three more dates to play before coming home. _"Guys. I'm OK. Concentrating on the shows. The fans…the people here," _and James swore he heard that voice break a little,_ "they've been amazing. They've even chased some press away. Love you guys, but I'm OK. I'll call you."_

And then he'd vanished. Carlos called them when he went to meet the scheduled flight from Germany at LAX, and there was no Kendall. Nor on the next flight, nor the next. Kendall hadn't come back to LA. Kendall wouldn't answer his phone. Kendall was gone.

Logan wanted to go find him. James desperately wanted to as well. His heart broke to think of Kendall handling this alone, and knowing him, not well. But he also realized it was the worst thing they could do. Kendall wanted to hide, then all they could do was keep leaving him messages. They knew he was listening, because his mailbox was never full. Still, after another unanswered call, another attempt to sound upbeat and casual while wondering about his best friend's frame of mind, James couldn't help but imagine him curled up with his hands gripping his hair, the way he used to back home when his parents would fight, and James would sneak in and just sit next to him, sit there for as long as it took for Kendall to push himself up and suggest a video game, or send James home because it was late. And that was the thing, right there. Whenever Kendall had been hurting beyond words, James had always been there. And he admitted to himself - late at night in his cool bachelor digs, when his eyes blurred after leaving yet another message - it killed him not to be there now. Because Kendall, wherever he was, however he was mourning, needed James. He needed James to keep him safe from himself.

Carlos got a postcard from Turkey two weeks in.

Logan got a postcard from Malaysia the week after.

James hadn't received one, but that could have been due to the messages he'd taken to leaving. Not even trying to fake being OK with this. Telling Kendall he was worried. Telling Kendall this wasn't healthy. Telling Kendall he wasn't going to play hide and seek. Telling Kendall everyone needed to see him and hug him and know he was OK. Telling Kendall he couldn't just be an ex-pat and live in some beach shack near an outdoor bar like James Bond in Skyfall (although that was pretty sweet) but that he just needed to come home. Now.

Or James wouldn't water his plants anymore.

So yeah, maybe that added up to no postcard. But Christ, it had been five weeks since he rabbited and yeah he made some money but not that much so what the hell was he living on, what the hell was he _traveling_ on? And _"God damn it Kendall, where the fuck are you? None of us can get a decent sleep until you come back, you selfish bastard!" _And maybe he had said that out loud into his fancy phone after the beep, but why the fuck not, it was true. And he was getting tired of dodging the questioning media himself, thank you very much. Especially the ones in his driveway.

_Fucking Kendall_. He dumped the dregs of his tea into his sink, managing to set the mug down rather than throw it. _Fucking Kendall. Fucker_. Turned out the kitchen lights and headed toward the stairs. Hall light_. Fucking click_. Outdoor light. _Fucking_ _click_. Pissed off tears now. Upstairs light on. _Fucking click, fucking, fucking_ - and _what the _FUCK_ now? _Because someone was actually fucking knocking on his fucking door. _Are you fucking kidding me? Don't those fuckers sleep? _ He slapped the light back on and peered out. _What the fuck? _ Yanking the door open, he'd already started on "Who the fuck—" when his anger abruptly melted into a tiny "oh… Oh God."

And he couldn't pull the hooded figure in through the door fast enough, banging both of them against the jam and kicking the door closed but never, never letting go of the man he'd gripped to his chest, and who was gripping him back just as desperately. And sobbing.

"OK. OK, Kendall, it's OK." He maneuvered Kendall's backpack off of his shoulder, setting it to the floor. "Come on, come with me." A shuddering breath was all the affirmation he needed and he walked Kendall gently to the game room and the huge sectional where the four of them still battled over the best controllers, and settled him into a corner.

"OK," he repeated, pushing Kendall's hood off his head and smoothing his hair. "You're OK."

He held his hands on either side of Kendall's face, taking in the godawful appearance. Even under the tears and red, he could see the deeper set of his eyes, the dark circles underneath. Jesus, he'd lost weight, the only one of them who could not afford to lose weight.

"What the fuck have you been doing to yourself?" He whispered, his own throat starting to close up. He shook his head slowly. "Oh Kendall…"

Wasted – and there was no other word for it – wasted by the pain that had trailed him around the globe, Kendall looked to James with a panicked plea to fix things. Fix _everything_. James immediately gathered him back in, wrapping his arms around the even bonier shoulders, rubbing up and down the more prominent spine. With continued shushes and OKs they sat, Kendall snuffling into James's neck unashamedly and clinging to his shirt until he finally exhausted himself and slumped back on the couch cushions. James brought him water, pulled off his shoes, suspected he was already asleep by the time he tucked him under a thick fleece. And then James sat beside him.

Looking at that face, distraught even in sleep, James would sit there for as long as it took. Kendall couldn't send him home this time. He was home.

They were both home.


End file.
